


Glass Boy

by spiderboi (wxrlddestroyer)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Peter, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter-centric, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Steve Rogers, References to Depression, Superfamily, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wxrlddestroyer/pseuds/spiderboi
Summary: Peter shatters and everyone is left trying to glue him back together.OrIn which Aunt May dies and Peter's life is turned upside down.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is a little funky so I apologize in advance if it's confusing. The events of Spider-Man: Homecoming happened but Civil War did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline is a little funky so I apologize in advance if it's confusing. The events of Spider-Man: Homecoming happened but Civil War did not.

 Tony didn't know how to break the news to him. Steve trailed close behind him as they walked hesitantly towards Peter, who was smiling and showing Clint how to aim his web shooters accurately in the living area.

 Tony was a bit shocked himself—he usually takes death more straightforward. It was just hard to believe; smart, resilient, May Parker, dead?

 Steve and Tony look at each other; they should have filled in the other Avengers beforehand. It would have been ideal, if Peter reacts the way they're expecting.

 “Hey, Clint? Can we talk to Peter for a minute?” Steve asks for him, a slight shake to his voice.

 All Clint has to do is look at their solemn expressions for his smile to drop.

 “Uh, yeah… To be continued, Spidey.”

 Then Clint is gone, and Steve and Tony are left standing in front of a hopelessly innocent and clueless sixteen year old boy whose aunt just died.

 Tony has to remind himself that Peter’s only a kid, and he refrains from saying something witty.

 “Um, there’s no easy way to say this…” Steve trails off, taking Tony’s hand and guiding him to sit down on the loveseat next to him. They sit across from Peter, who looks utterly confused and concerned. The air is still between them, and Tony feels like his heart was just ripped out of his chest. He has no idea what to say, or how to even take care of an orphaned teenager.

 “I just got a call from the hospital. Aunt May-”

 “Is she okay? Did something happen?” the boy asks frantically, his eyes growing wide, anticipating Steve's next words.

 “She was at work and there was a fire. She was helping people out. It was no one’s fault.”

 Peter looks down at his shoes, his jaw clenching. He sits there for a minute, wanting to ask if his aunt was okay but not wanting the answer.

 “Is she dead?” he asks quietly, looking up at the two men, and Tony swears he can hear Steve’s heart breaking.

 “They did everything they could, Peter.” Tony answered for him as Steve laces their fingers together. “The building collapsed and her and a few other people didn't make it out.”

 Peter doesn't say anything—he _can’t—_ and tries to breathe. He can’t cry, not in front of these _superhumans_ , he can't embarrass himself like that. But the tears flow on their own, despite what Peter keeps telling himself. He wipes the stray tear drops away with the back of his hand and takes a deep breath.

 “Can I go see her?”

 Steve and Tony give each other another look, having a silent conversation with their eyes.

 “Yeah. Of course,” Steve replies, “do you want us to come with you?”

 “Okay. I guess,” he says after a while, and Steve squeezes Tony’s hand when Peter’s voice cracks at the end of his sentence.

 

———

 

 “I get it, y’know. My mom and dad died when I was younger, too.”

 Tony can't catch a break. He either talks too little, or talks too much. Peter looks up at him with red rimmed eyes. He stomps to his room. Tony’s alone on the couch.

 “What’d you do?” Clint asks curiously, leaning his weight on the wall.

 “I fucked up. I don't know what to say to him.”

 Clint appears to be contemplating it. Finally, he says, “I don't know, man. Maybe just leave him alone for a while.”

 Tony’s eyebrows furrow and he rests his chin in his palms and pouts.

 “Fuck you, Barton. That's not the answer I was looking for.”

 “Then what did you want me to tell you?”

 He sighs. “That's the problem. I don't know.”

 

———

 

 Peter feels like a complete idiot.

 He’s crying and snotting all over his pillow and he knows that Wanda is listening to the whole pathetic scene unfold from her room. But he can't stop it now.

 Tony can be so deaf. He has no clue what to say, and Peter doesn't blame him—he just wishes he'd shut up sometimes. He's glad that he has Steve to help keep his head on straight. Or at least keep him from doing completely reckless things sometimes.

 Tony has Steve, Wanda has Vision, Natasha has Clint. And who does Peter have? No one. Not anymore.

 It’s been approximately two weeks since Steve and Tony sat him down and told him his aunt died a horrible death. There's good days and bad days, highs and lows. Michelle and Ned have visited the Avengers HQ nine times since then; they talk to the others and assure them that Peter is okay. He is, most of the time.

 They sit with him on the bed, rubbing his back, petting his hair, telling him it’s okay. Sometimes it’s just Ned. Sometimes it’s just MJ.

 At moments like this, Peter wonders why he's still here and why the Avengers haven't kicked him out yet. He’s useless; he can't even protect his aunt. It’s just a giant problem, him living with the Avengers. Tony’s gearing up for a custody battle between him, and well, no one. No one else wants to keep him. All he was told was that, CPS thinks it's in his best interest to live with a foster family instead of the Avengers, blah, blah, bullshit.

 First, he lost his parents. Then, Uncle Ben. Now, Aunt May. He can't lose Tony, too.

 

———

 

 “You must eat, Peter,” Vision says, pushing his bowl of spaghetti closer to him.

 “Wanda, why will he not eat? He has been sitting here for an hour and will not move.”

 “Leave him alone, Vision. He’s going through some stuff.”

 The thing is, Peter _wants_ to eat. He wants to just eat his spaghetti and be _okay_ but he _can't._ He can't find it in himself to find the food appetizing or even have the urge to eat at all.

 It’s the first time that Peter has left his room for lunch in a while. Usually, he retreats to the dark of his room while everyone else eats and laughs and waits for them to finish. Then there's a knock at his door and Tony standing there with a plate of food.

 He actually came this time, though. The others must have been proud of him, or thought he was making progress or something.

 Once again, letting them down.

 It’s a quiet day today; most of everyone is out combat training or running errands. He’s at the dining table with the company of Vision, Wanda, and his untouched bowl of spaghetti.

 Vision stands up from his seat across the table from the youngest Avenger, letting Wanda take his place. He floats away, or whatever he does, _hovers?_ and goes through a wall (which is fucking weird, and apparently accidentally walked in on Steve and Tony doing unsavory things, once. Everyone thought he had learned his lesson).

 “As smart as he is, Vision will never understand the concept of feelings.” She laughs. Peter has always loved her laugh, how it makes her accent thicker and it’s just so _Wanda_ and how everything in Avengers Mansion is just _happy_ because even Wanda is laughing.

 This was a different laugh, though. This was a 'I get it, and nothing is funny but I'm laughing because I feel bad for you’ type of laugh. He’s been getting a lot of those types of laughs recently, except from Vision, who is utterly confused by the whole ordeal.

 “You know, I lost someone close to me, too.” Peter can't look at her. He just can't stand to reassure one more concerned face.

 “And I get it.” Peter can barely see her eyebrows furrow. “You remind me a lot of him, actually.” She cracks a sad smile as she reaches out to grab his hand in her own. “His name was Pietro. I don't talk about him much. You guys would have hit it off.” Wanda gives Peter’s hand a squeeze. “And I miss him all the time. And I think about what I could have done differently, how I could have been better and how I could have saved him. But I couldn't save him, and it’s not my fault. He knew what he was doing and if he wasn't dead, Clint would be. And I wouldn't be an Avenger. And I would have never met you guys.”

 Peter looks at her with confusion. “What are you trying to tell me?” his voice is shaky and quiet, and he holds back tears gathering in his eyes.

 Wanda gives him a sympathetic look, which she doesn't give to many people, and she grabs his hand in her’s from across the table.

 “I’m just saying. Maybe it’s not all bad. You have us, and we're not going anywhere. Tony will win the case and you can live in this big ugly facility with us. We all care about you, Peter… And I know it's hard right now but we'll help you. It'll be okay.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just wants to be normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the positive feedback after just one chapter!

 It’s been a month since May’s funeral. The casket was closed.

 Peter did a speech, and had to stop halfway through because he was crying too hard. Tony said something as well, but Peter doesn’t think about it. He doesn't want to. It hurts too much.

 Everyone has been nice to him, comforting but careful, like he’ll break if they say something wrong. Peter doesn't like being treated like glass.

 He’s in his Spider-Man suit, looking at himself in the mirror leaning on his wall. He hasn't been back in his suit in a while and it’s a familiar comfort. It holds him like a tight hug, like the ones Uncle Ben used to give him, and he can almost say he feels safe.

 He slides it back off effortlessly and stuffs it in his backpack, along with his phone, wallet, and extra web fluid. He dresses himself in a t-shirt and jeans, then slings the bag over his shoulder and shuts his door on the way out of his room.

 As soon as he enters the common room, his gaze locks with Wanda’s. She smirks at him; she knows what he's doing. Sometimes Peter wonders if she's constantly reading his mind or if he's just that predictable.

 “Where ya goin’?” Steve asks, his face hidden behind a book.

 “Happy’s driving me to Queens,” he replies. Steve closes his book.

 “Did you ask Happy about this first?” he asks, amused. Peter nods his head.

 “How about I take you instead? We can give Happy the night off.”

 Peter shoots a look at Wanda. She shrugs helplessly.

 “Um… okay.”

 

———

 

 They've been in the car for a while now, and they're almost to May’s old apartment. It’s already been cleared out; all of her things put into storage and all of Peter’s things moved into his room in Avengers Mansion. Peter tries not to think about it and Steve doesn't mention it.

  **Penis Parker:** hey im almost there

  **Rebellious angsty teen:** is it too late to cancel i hate you guys

  **Penis Parker:** suck it up

  **Guy In The Chair:** we're meeting at Peter’s right??

  **Rebellious angsty teen:** ye

 “So…” Steve trails, catching Peter's attention from his phone.

 “Hmm,” Peter hums, putting his phone back in his pocket.

 “You know we're trying, right? All of us. I know you hate being treated like a little kid and I get it. What you can do is amazing. And I don't want to have a sappy moment, I just want you to be safe. I know your suit is in that bag of yours. Don't go swingin’ around Queens unless you gotta, okay?”

 Peter doesn't know what to say, besides, “Okay, Cap.”

 They pull up in front of Peter's old apartment and Ned waves excitedly at them. Michelle takes one look at him and immediately sticks up her middle finger.

 “Just, have fun with your friends, okay? And don't get into trouble.” Steve looks at him with worry. Like a mother dropping her kid off at a party for the first time. He thinks back to when Aunt May dropped him off at Liz’s party, Ned in the backseat, fixing his fedora. Peter can't help but hug him.

 Steve's caught off guard at first, but he lets him hold onto him anyway.

 “Alright, Pete,” he says gruffly, ruffling up Peter's hair. “Get out of here, Spidey… And don’t have underage sex!”

 The boy jogs across the street to where his friends are standing. Maybe web-slinging can wait another day.

 “Okay, one, I can’t believe Captain  America just told you not to have underage sex, and two, you need a haircut,” MJ says, her face twisted with (hopefully fake) disgust, running her fingers through his hair.

 Peter bats her hand away and gives her a sour face. “I like my hair like this. You're the one who needs to fix that mop on your head,” he retorts as they begin to walk leisurely down the streets of downtown Queens.

 They push open the door to Delmar’s—courtesy of a certain superhero billionaire donating the money to rebuild it—and Delmar turns around as the bell over the door rings.

 “Peter! It's so good to see you!” the man says, meeting the three teenagers in front of the counter. Delmar gives Peter a pat on the back and nods at Ned and MJ.

 “Where have you gone off to now? Left us old people in the dust!” he says cheerily, going back behind the counter and making Peter's favorite.

 “Well, I was lucky enough that Mr. Stark took me in,” he replies awkwardly, trying not to be rude. He hates talking about it, he hates even thinking about it.

 “Would you guys like anything to eat?” Delmar asks, looking expectantly over at the two.

 Ned’s eyes widen when he realizes he was being spoken to. “Oh, uh, no thank you, Mr. Delmar. I’m fine.”

 “So am I,” Michelle pipes in, sitting down at a table with her feet resting on it. Typical Michelle, always being a nuisance to society and pretending not to give a shit about anyone. Peter knows it’s all an act.

 Delmar hands him his sandwich and gives him an awkwardly sympathetic pat on the back. “There. On the house tonight. If you need anything just let me know, kid.”

 By now, Peter should have gotten it down, just take the pitiful and concerned whispers and side hugs and say thank you. But looking the older man in the face for the first time in a month, after what has happened, breaks him a little. _Spider-Man doesn’t cry. Suck it up._

 “Thank you, sir. I think I’ve got everything under control, though.”

 The man gives him a sad smile. “Okay, Peter. I’m glad you’re okay.”

 Peter nods at him, his lips in a thin line. “Yeah, thanks Delmar. I’ll see you around.” Michelle and Ned stand up as well, like they want to get out of the situation as fast as Peter does.

 “Bye, Mr. Delmar!” Ned calls out as they leave the shop, heading towards Ned’s house.

 

———

 

 When they get there, the apartment is dark and quiet. They turn on lights as they walk around the house. Ned shrugs. “Mom’s probably shopping or something,” he says, and they stop worrying about it.

 The three spend their evening watching Star Wars movies, (Ned has the entire box set!) while MJ complains about how Star Trek is better. (“Are you kidding me? How is it that you think Chris Pine _isn’t_ the most attractive person ever?”) (“Chris Pine _is_ attractive, no one can deny that, but have you _seen_ Mark Hamill in Empire Strikes Back?”) And so on.

 It's the first time Peter’s been able to act like just a regular teenager in a long time, and he savors it. No swinging around the city as Spider-Man, or fighting guys trying to kill him with alien tech, or eating dinner with the Avengers. Just him, Ned and Michelle, together, and that's all he could ask for.

 Ned’s mom comes home eventually, lugging grocery bags in her arms. Peter jumps up from the couch and takes as many bags from her as he can carry and helps her put everything away.

 “Thank you, Peter, you’re so thoughtful. I wish Ned would do that for me.” Everybody laughs except Ned. He sits there and frowns. “Maybe if you came around more you’d rub off on him.”

 

———

 

 Steve picks him up the next morning at Ned’s house, (Tony was guiding him though using the GPS over the phone the whole time) (“Give an old man a break!”), and Peter says his goodbyes to his friends.

 “I’m going to miss you guys,” he says solemnly, gathering them both in a group hug that Michelle acted like she resented.

 “You don’t have to,” Ned replies, “you can stay here. With my mom and I.” Peter shakes his head.

 “I have my responsibilities with the Avengers.”

 MJ rolls her eyes. “Avengers this, Avengers that. Whatever, idiot.”

 “Bye, guys,” Peter says again, waving as he ducks down into the car.

 “Did you have fun with your friends?” Steve asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

 “Yeah. We watched Star Wars,” Peter replies, looking out the window. “Ned’s mom kept saying she wanted to adopt me though. I said no.” The two chuckle.

 Steve pulls into a parking lot. Peter looks up. They’re not at Avengers Mansion, obviously. They’re at Dunkin Donuts.

 “I figured we could stop for breakfast.”

 After an awkward encounter with the barista— _“Oh my god, are you Captain America?”_ —they sit down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop. Peter is scarfing down a blueberry muffin while Steve sips on his drink.

 “We’re going on a trip. Did Tony tell you about it yet?” Peter shakes his head. “I’ll be gone for a few days at most. Nothing to worry about. Stephen Strange has one of the infinity stones and Tony and Banner want to talk to him about it and do their geek thing. I don’t know, I guess I’m just going for fun.”

 Peter doesn’t say anything, only shrugs. “Can I come with you?”

 “No,” Steve says immediately, shaking his head. “You should stay here and hold down the fort.”

 Peter sighs. There's no point in arguing. With Captain America and Iron Man taking on the dad roles, he knows he'll never win. “When do you leave?”

 “Friday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to update this at least once a week, but I may have a new chapter out every few days since I'm on Winter break right now. We'll see.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is itching for a fight.

 There's good days and there's bad days. Most of them are okay, he tries to stay positive, ( _hell_ , he gets to live with the _Avengers_ , Earth's Mightiest Heros, for crying out loud!), but sometimes the memories of watching the life leave Uncle Ben’s eyes, or Aunt May’s coffin being lowered into the ground follows him around, like a ghost in the walls. There are days when he wonders if they would be proud of him. There are nights when he wonders if they resent him, or regret taking him in. He wonders what happened to his real parents—why they would decide one day that they didn't want him and leave him with two people he barely knew.

 All of these thoughts are running through his head as he watches Steve, Tony, and Bruce drive away.

 He's not mad that they didn't want him tagging along. He gets it. Stephen Strange means real business, and they wouldn't want a kid making a bad impression on the Avengers. He waves at them one last time as the drive away and goes back inside. Wanda is sitting at the island eating a bowl of cereal.

 “Care to join me?” she asks, patting the seat next to her.

 Peter doesn't want to talk to anybody—look at them, even. It's just one of those days.

 “No thanks, Wanda.”

 He shuffles past her and towards his room when she catches his elbow with her hand.

 “You don't have to be sad. They will be back soon.”

 Peter rips his arm out of her grip. “Don't read my mind like that,” he grumbles, scowling at the older girl.

 “It doesn't take a mind reader to know you're upset, Peter.”

 He turns his back to her, crossing his arms over his chest. “That doesn't mean I want to talk about it,” he mumbles.

 “I know that,” Wanda replies, “I just thought you could use a friend.”

 “Whatever. I’m _fine.”_

 Peter doesn't want to talk to Wanda, or Clint, or Nat. He just wants to sulk in his room and never come out. He wants to disappear.

 

———

 

 The suit is a welcomed weight on Peter's shoulders as he swings through the trees outside the headquarters. It's been awhile since he was last in a proper battle or went on an actual mission. Tony thinks it would be best for him to lay low for a while. He doesn't want to. He wants to be treated equally; be taken on missions and be an Avenger. He doesn't want to be defined by his aunt’s death. He wants to pull his own weight and Tony won't let him. How is he supposed to be a friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man if his life back in Queens was torn away from him?

 He's itching for a fight and there's not much to do outside, since everything is so far away and the Mansion is meant to be kept secret. Swinging around on branches gets old, fast. Being inside is worse, though. Peter can feel the concern they have for him and how everyone tip-toes around him, like he'll fall apart at any wrong word. He feels suffocated in that great, big building. He wants to go back to his dingey old apartment in Queens, where he could build Lego Death Star(s) with Ned and slide around the hardwood floors in his socks with Aunt May and just be _himself_. Peter gives up and goes back inside.

 For some reason, he finds his feet leading him to Wanda’s door instead of his own. The door slides open before he can even knock on it.

 “Sure, I'll spar with you.” She has a knowing smirk plastered on her face as she leans on the doorframe and Peter is already regretting his decision.

 “I told you not to read my mind,” he says. There's no heat behind his words, just a tired annoyance, and Wanda smiles at him.

 “I never agreed to that.”

 

———

 

 Wanda’s red smoke curls around a table in the practice room and she hurls it into the air. Peter reacts just as fast and bounces off of it, swinging from webs attached to the ceiling to keep higher ground. The girl dodges every web he aims at her. She uses her power to wrap its foggy tendrils around his ankle and pull him down. He hits the ground with a thump and his head spins. It’s _perfect._

 He scrambles to stand up and when he regains his balance, Wanda is hovering right above him. She drops out of the air and wraps one leg around his shoulder and one around his back, twisting him and making his feet fly out from under him. Peter hits the ground on his back and Wanda pins him down, the red smoke twisting around his wrists and ankles. The elder of the two bounces back to her feet, still holding him to the ground with her magic.

 “You're out of practice,” she says, panting. Her fog starts to dissipate and Peter takes his chance. He pulls himself up and immediately grabs her hands with his webs, taking them and wrapping them around her torso. She’s left struggling to get out of the webs’ grasp, her arms twisted around her body. Peter tugs his mask off and catches his breath.

 “And _you’re_ underestimating me.”

 The younger of the two grabs a knife from a nearby table and cuts the webs off of her in silence. He’s angry, and he hates being angry, because he has it so good here, and Tony spoils him. He feels so _stupid_ when he gets mad like this, because he knows most people have it way harder than him. He doesn't even know why there's hot tears burning his eyes or why his fists are balling up. He runs out of the practice room before Wanda sees him have a meltdown. She lets him go.

 He's making a beeline for his room when there's a firm grip on his arm. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he raises his hand, ready for whatever danger he could potentially be in, when he turns around and sees it's only Natasha.

 “You scared the shit out of me,” he grumbles. Natasha frowns, letting go of him.

 “Watch your language _, molodoy chelovek.”_ Peter has no idea what that means but he's not too keen on finding out. “I want to talk to you. About everything.”

 “I’m fine,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

 “Peter, I’m a _spy_ , I can tell when people are lying.” Her expression is stern but her eyes are soft. “Please talk to me. Or anyone, just, let someone in.”

 Peter blinks at her. “Are you kidding me? The last time I let someone in, they got _killed_! Just- please, stop worrying so much about me, I’ll be fine!” he lets go and the tears roll down his cheeks. He wipes them away just as quick and turns his back to the woman in front of him.

 “You can’t hide from it, Peter. You can’t keep shutting everyone out. And I understand that you're hurting, but we all miss you. Tony misses you.”

 “Well, I’m right here. They're not missing anything.” Peter hates how his voice cracks at the end.

 He goes back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to update; I've been out of town and haven't had time


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a long time trying to write this chapter and I just couldn't get it the way I liked. Sorry it's so late. I hope you like it.

 When Tony, Steve, and Bruce come back with Stephen Strange in tow on Sunday, Peter doesn't bother to greet them. Doctor Strange wouldn't care about him, he’s just the kid that Tony took in out of pity. It’s half past six when they arrive back at headquarters, and there’s loud voices coming from the living area, pats on backs and handshakes. No one comes to his room to say hi to him.

 All he wants is someone to understand him, or validate him, or  _ something _ . Aunt May was always good at that.

 He lays on his bed, listening to the echoes of voices from the other room. His eyes burn from sadness and his lips sting from constantly biting them. He doesn't have it in him to get up from his bed. He wonders what is wrong with him—why he can't get up and why he doesn't  _ want _ to.

 Maybe it’s Aunt May, or Uncle Ben, or his parents, or all of them. With every person he has lost, another weight is added to his shoulders. He’s being dragged down and it’s taking all he’s got not to collapse.

 The boy lays there, swimming in self-pity, and eventually he's going to drown in it. It’s times like these when all he wants to do is cry on his aunt’s shoulder and have her tell him he’s going to be okay.

 Peter is almost nodding off into a much needed sleep when there's a knock on his door. He doesn't answer. They walk in anyway.

 “Peter.” It’s Tony. He doesn't bother to look up. “We’re going to eat dinner. Fried chicken.”

 “I’m not going.”

 “Yes you are.”

 “I’m not hungry.”

 “Natasha told me you haven't left your room since noon. Why is that?”

 “I’m surprised she didn't tell you.”

 “Trust me, she did. I just want to hear what you have to say.”

 “I don't have anything to say about it. How was the mission, or whatever you want to call it.”

 “It was okay. I wish you went with us, though; you would've had a good time. Strange is all doom and gloom. Pretty emo. Reminds me of Michelle.”

 “Oh my god, did you just call Michelle emo? She's not emo.”

 “Really? Because she acts pretty emo. She's nice, though. Do you like her?”

 “What?” Peter shoots up from his bed, glaring at Tony. “No. I do  _ not _ like Michelle. Why does everybody assume guys and girls can't hang out without it being a thing?”

 “S’not what I said. Was just wondering.” Tony looks at him like there's so much more he wants to say. “We’re training tomorrow. Under my parental rights I am forcing you to eat.”

 Peter squints at him. “You can't do that.”

 Tony mirrors him. “Yes I can. And stop being such a brat. That’s  _ my _ job.”

 

———

 

 He’s sat at the dining table between Tony and Bruce, picking at his fried chicken. It looks delicious, and he's sure he would like it if he had an appetite. He compliments Vision on his cooking skills, even though he doesn't eat much off of his plate. He gives Natasha an apology hug and she kisses him on the cheek and says something to him in Russian.

 Peter feels like he's intruding when he notices Steve has his hand resting on Tony’s thigh under the table. Bruce and Nat are sitting with their fingers laced together and Wanda is laughing at everything Vision says. Clint is telling Stephen about his family. Everyone is content and happy. Peter feels alone at this table seating nine.

 “So,” a gravelly voice says, directed at Tony, “how did this happen?” Stephen points in the direction of Peter. He tries to sound polite, Peter can tell, but it didn’t come out that way.

 Everyone goes quiet, and Tony and Steve tense up.

 “His, uh, aunt passed away recently, so he's been living here with us.” Tony stares straight at Peter when he speaks, like he's trying not to upset him. “I’m his guardian now. We've got a ways to go on the official case, since living with the Avengers isn't a very safe place for a child, but…”

 Peter shrugs. “I’d argue that living with the Avengers  _ is _ the safest place, but it’s not up to me.”

 Tony shoots him a proud smile. “We’ll get this all sorted out. I promise.” He turns back to Stephen. “He's a great kid.”

 Peter accepts the praise with polite smiles. He lets Tony pat him on the back and Steve ruffle up his hair. He shuts out what they're saying after a while. It's easier to block everything out.

 

———

 

 The sunlight streaming through the blinds shines in his sleepy eyes. Peter groans, rolling over to shield himself. He listens to the talking from the common room as he slowly starts to wake up. Eventually, he drags himself out of bed and into the shower. He hasn’t slept a full night in a while, and he’s a bit proud of himself when he realizes he slept a full nine hours. The five NyQuil pills he swallowed might have helped, too.

 The cold water is a jolt to his system as it falls down around him. It sprays over his back as he breathes deeply. The steaming water helps his tight muscles loosen.

 He hates to even think about it, to hear it in his own head, but he feels like he's  _ healing.  _ The water is washing away his stress and sadness and he stands there and just  _ exists.  _ He knows it'll rear its ugly head again soon, so he savors it.

 When he’s dressed and ready for the day, he heads towards the living room, where the voices were coming from. When he turns the corner, he sees Steve and Vision sitting opposite from each other on couches. It makes sense; Steve always wakes up early and Vision isn't very big on the whole 'sleep’ concept.

 “Good morning, Peter,” they say in unison, which sounds ridiculous, but it's too early in the morning for Peter to find it amusing.

 “Good morning,” he replies, making a beeline for the half-full coffee pot in the kitchen.

 “You shouldn't drink coffee so young. You'll stop growing,” Steve says playfully, “Looks like you already have.”

 “That’s coming from  _ you,  _ who volunteered to get injected with an experimental serum to make you look less like a shrimp,” he shoots back, pouring himself a mug of coffee anyway.

 Steve pouts. “You suck, Parker.”

 Peter laughs just because he  _ can, _ and it might be just because today was one of the good days, or maybe because he’s allowing himself to have more good days.

 

———

 

 “A lot has happened in the last few months. The guys brought back Doctor Strange, which is cool, I guess. He's pretty… quiet. And pretentious. Him and Tony are getting along well, haha.

 I’ve been trying to hang out with Ned and Michelle more often. It’s  _ different _ living with the Avengers. It’s all I wanted for, like,  _ years.  _ And I love it there, and I love all the people there. I just get lonely sometimes, you know?”

 He's staring at the headstone, sitting on the grass with his legs tucked under him. He can't bring himself to read what's engraved in it, though. The pain of picking what it would say is still fresh in his mind; scribbling words on a piece of paper that would be above Aunt May’s grave forever.

 He knows he'll never hear her reply, if she's even listening. People just do weird things when in grief.

 “I miss you so much, Aunt May.”


End file.
